


Happy Birthday Peeta (Perfect)

by endlessnightlock (Endlessnightlock)



Series: One Night Stands (aka One-Shot Collection) [6]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Best Friends to Romance, F/M, Kissing, Peeta's POV, Sweet, Yearning, sure lets call it that, surprise party for Peeta, teenage everlark, unrequited feelings finally requited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22266058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endlessnightlock/pseuds/endlessnightlock
Summary: Jrosely requested a surprise party for Peeta.Katniss and Peeta have been best friends since they were little, and on Peeta's birthday things change between the two.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: One Night Stands (aka One-Shot Collection) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001196
Comments: 34
Kudos: 126





	Happy Birthday Peeta (Perfect)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jrosely](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jrosely).



> If you read this on tumblr there's a little more added on the end.

“Are you ready to go?” Katniss asks, hoisting her backpack over her shoulder. 

She slides her arms through the straps as I tuck my biology book inside my bag and zip it closed. As I straighten my notes and slide them into the folder I chose specifically for this class- green to symbolize plant life but also green because it’s her favorite color, I watch her run her fingers back and forth across the braided portion of the nylon straps. 

Katniss is one of those girls who’s full of nervous energy, especially when she’s been cooped up inside for too long. That girl is so messy; there’s zero chance she’s using a color-coded system for anything in that duct-taped mess of a backpack she carries.

Maybe that’s why I’m in love with her; she's so wild and free and unconcerned with things like whether the notes for our class are arranged in the right order or the fact that one side of her backpack won’t zip closed while my obsessive-compulsive ass can’t even leave the house without making sure my shoelaces are double knotted. 

Katniss makes my well-ordered, perfectly planned out, boring world feel a little more interesting- like sometimes there’s magic, and impossible things can happen just from being around her.

For instance, all of the times she texted me in the middle of the night, asking me to sneak out and meet her last summer. There was just something about roaming the back streets of our shithole town with her while everyone else was sleeping. We sat in the strangest places- the cemetery, the bakery roof, the parking lot of the 7 Eleven, spending hours talking about everything and nothing. 

Katniss talked a lot about her family, her worries for her younger sister, and the way that her mother wouldn't really talk to either of the girls much anymore, and how much she missed her dad, who’d died years ago from a brain aneurysm.

I could sympathize. We talked about my messed-up relationship with my own family, how my dad didn’t have any interest in any of us boys since my mom left and how my brothers were consumed with their own lives and paid zero attention to me. 

I feel like nobody sees me but Katniss. I don’t tell her that, but I think she knows. 

I mean- sneaking out with the best friend/love of my life all summer was great and all, but what pair of sixteen-year-olds should be able to get away with that? It's hard to feel like someone cares when they don't even notice you're gone.

Once I’m packed up and ready to go, my bag over one shoulder, Katniss rolls her eyes at me (the way she always does) and loops her arm through the crook of mine (the way she always does), but only after she’s done teasing me about taking too much time to get my things together. 

A rush of feelings hit- pinpricks and electricity and just sheer sensory overload, when she lets her small, cold hand rest on my arm. I can feel its icy chill through my sweatshirt. Katniss says she uses me for warmth because, in her words, ‘You’re always too hot anyway.” To that I don’t have anything to say, she knows I don’t mind. For probably the one-millionth time in my life, I wish I wasn’t so damn afraid of the unknown because I’d like to move that little hand further down my arm and thread my fingers through hers. But I haven’t worked up the nerve yet, so another moment of my life goes by where I keep my mouth shut. 

_Some day._

“Sorry, my mom couldn’t pick us up,” Katniss says, letting go of my arm once we’re outside the library. “She had to work late.”

I shrug. “It’s not a big deal,” I say, following her as she starts towards her house. 

It’s kind of a long walk across town, twenty minutes or so, but of course, I don’t mind because it’s more time alone with her. 

It’s cool and overcast today- one of those fall days that started warm but got cool quicker than you anticipated it would. Katniss shivers in her long-sleeved t-shirt, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. This always seems to happen. She’s so forgetful, and I’ve given her my clothes, so many times I think she owns half of my wardrobe at this point. I just can’t stand to see her cold. “You should have dressed warmer,” I say, pausing for a minute to slide my backpack off my shoulders and pull the _Panem Wrestling_ hoodie over my head. I hand it to her, and she snatches it greedily without a second thought. 

“My knight in shining honor,” she jokes, a wry little smile on her lips as she slips my sweatshirt over her head. Katniss swims in it, and I have to laugh. I never get tired of seeing her in my clothes.

“Someone has to take care of you,” I say. “You aren’t very good at taking care of yourself.”

“I do alright,” Katniss says, stepping closer and nudging me with her elbow. “I don’t need your mollycoddling, Mellark.”

I snort. 

She’s a terrible liar.

“You so do- and mollycoddling? Who’d you pick that one up from? Your great-aunt Tilly?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing as we approach the intersection. Katniss glances down both sides of the busy street. “There’s a lot of traffic. We’re going to have to run.”

“We could go to the crosswalk-“ 

But she grabs my hand, tugging me out into the street. “Come on, let’s just go.”

I let her lead me out into traffic in a mad dash because I’d follow her anywhere, even to the ends of the earth. 

When we reach the other side of the street, she doesn’t let go, and I don't say anything. For whatever reason Katniss is choosing to hold on, I don’t want it to stop.

_This_ _isn’t that weird, is it? Friends hold hands sometimes._

Just because she and I have never done this before doesn’t mean I should read more into it than what’s there, does it?

Or does it?

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

“My hands are cold,” she says, her tone casual. 

“Okay,” I say, not wanting to push the subject and ruin this moment like some kind of weirdo.

* * *

  
  


We’re almost to Katniss’s house.

She’s still holding my hand. 

Being the marginally intelligent guy I am, I chose not to comment and break the spell we’re under. It’s only early evening, a little after six, but maybe there’s some of that nighttime magic left over from last summer here, just enough left floating around in the universe and bleeding through into the fabric of this day. 

It’s my birthday, although that doesn’t seem to mean a whole lot this year. This morning Dad gave me a card with fifty bucks in it, along with an obligatory awkward pat on the shoulder. He said something vague about going out for pizza once he closed up the bakery tonight, but when I reminded him about wrestling practice and the plans I’d made to work on my science project with Katniss, he seemed relieved. 

And it’s funny; I can’t find it in myself to be angry with Dad over his apathy- the four of us haven’t acted much like a family since my mom took off. No one even tries anymore; we’re more like roommates who orbit around each other without a central force there to keep us close.

Despite his lack of enthusiasm, my dad’s the only one who has acknowledged the day so far. Katniss usually remembers, but she’s been mum today. I know money has been tight for the Everdeen’s lately, and I can’t help but wonder if she hasn’t said anything about my birthday because she can’t afford to buy me a gift this year. She’s already given me the thing I want most right now, walking hand in hand down the street with me. I’d take this forever, every day for the rest of my life. Maybe with a side of eventual kissing. 

“What are you smiling about?” Katniss asks, her voice low as we cross her driveway and head around toward the back of her house.

I’m afraid of breaking this spell we’re under, so I just shrug.

She raises her eyebrows in challenge.

“Nothing.” 

She scowls. 

“This,” I say finally, lifting our joined hands. “This is what I’m smiling about.” I have this crazy urge to kiss her fingers right now, but fortunately, I'm enough of a realist to know I’m not smooth enough to pull it off.

Katniss looks away quickly as if reading my thoughts, dropping the subject for now. She lets go of my hand to pull the disaster she calls a backpack off her shoulders and immediately begins to dig around in what I refer to as “the black hole” for her house keys. We might be here a while if my memory is correct. “Prim’s not home?” I ask. 

Katniss shakes her head, continuing to root around in her bag. “No, she’s at Rue’s.” A strand of hair comes loose from the spot where she tucked it behind her ear earlier, and I reach out and push it back into place. My thumb brushes her cheek while the tip of my finger just grazes her earlobe. 

Her clear olive skin doesn’t usually color easily, so I can’t help but notice when a blush forms on her face. She doesn’t move. It feels as though that physical barrier, the one that’s stood firmly between us for years, has disappeared with the simple act of holding hands. On that short walk home, my reitience with her has completely disappeared. Now I can’t stop myself from touching her, and I’m completely overwhelmed by the moment and by what this could mean. My heart is in my throat; I seem to be having trouble breathing. 

Her skin is so soft beneath my fingertips, like silk, and she’s so pretty, all flustered and unsure of herself this way. We’re starting at each other, her eyes nervous and flitting around as if her store of bravery was used up when she grabbed my hand and didn’t let go after crossing the street. I let my hand drop from her face. “Katniss, I-“

”Found it!” she says, interrupting as she suddenly unearths the key from her backpack. She turns on her heel and jams the key inside the lock.

I hadn't even realized she was still looking.

I watch her shuffle on her feet and smile to myself at how cute she is.

A total disaster. 

She’s perfect.

I love her so much. 

And I’m starting to wonder if maybe, oh please, she might feel the same way about me?

I follow Katniss through the back door and into the kitchen, tossing my backpack on the floor next to hers and heading towards her living room. 

“No, Peeta, wait a minute,” she stops, steering me towards a kitchen chair instead. Katniss even going so far as to pull it out and urge me to sit. “Stay here for a minute; I just need to grab something.” 

“Okay, but why all the secrecy?”

Katniss shakes her finger at me. “You’ll find out. Keep your eyes closed- no peeking!”

I put my hands up and laugh. “I won’t look, I promise.” What is she doing?

“You’d better not.”

So I sit at the table with my eyes screwed tight, listening to the sound of her footsteps and what I’m sure is a chair being dragged across the carpeted floor, which is then followed by the noise of her refrigerator door opening and closing. 

More footsteps, and then Katniss is back. “Keep your eyes closed,” she says, grabbing my hand and tugging on my arm until I’m standing upright. “Just hold on to me; I’ll lead the way.”

“How far are we going?” I ask, threading my fingers through hers and gripping tight as she guides me across the kitchen. 

Katniss laughs at my question as we come to a stop in what I’m positive is the doorway of her living room. “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” she says, her voice a little breathy and… nervous? “Whenever you’re ready.”

What I see when I open my eyes… I swear it makes my insides melt.

It’s a birthday party. 

Katniss planned a surprise party for me. 

There’s nobody here but us.

She has streamers hanging from her ceiling fan and balloons taped to the walls. There’s even a banner (I’m pretty sure she got the chair out to put it up) hung over the mantel that says _Happy 17th Birthday, Peeta!_

On the Everdeen’s coffee table sits a cake, not a cake like the ones we make at the bakery with precisely formed sides and corners and covered in beautiful hand-formed decorations, but a messy-looking little slapped-together cake with what I’m sure is a can of chocolate frosting slathered all over it. 

My mother would have shuddered in horror, but tears threaten behind my eyes because it’s the most beautiful, ugly little thing I’ve ever seen.

“The party wasn’t supposed to be just you and me,” Katniss explains haltingly. “I invited Fin and Johanna and some other people, but I didn’t get around to asking them until this morning, and by then, no one else was able to come. I’m sorry, this is shitty, isn’t it?” Her words wobble at the end. The fear of trying something and it not being _quite_ good enough fill her voice. “I’m sorry, this is stupid.”

I don’t even hesitate, reaching out and pulling her close to me. She’s stiff as I try and enfold her in my arms (she’s got a damn stubborn streak a mile long), but finally, she relents, relaxing against my chest. 

I prop my chin on top of her head and take a deep breath. Her shampoo smells wonderful, like flowers and mint, something I’ve only caught a whiff of before, but now I am free to sniff to my heart’s content. The whole situation makes me feel light-headed. 

“It’s perfect,” I say. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“It’s not. You’re a liar, Peeta.”

I pull back enough to look down at her then. Her grey eyes are wide and nervous. She tries to smile but isn’t quite managing it.

I hate it that she doesn’t believe this is good enough. I hate that she thinks I’m disappointed.

“Katniss…” I begin but falter right away because nothing _I_ could say seems good enough. Also, I’m trying to think of exactly how much I _should_ say to her; I’m sort of afraid that once I start, I won’t be able to stop, and I don’t know if she’s ready to hear about how I’ve been in love with her since preschool today.

“This is… just.” I stop and shake my head. Words are officially failing me right now, so I throw caution to the wind and press my forehead against hers. 

She jolts a little, surprised at the contact.

I surprised myself a little, honestly, but I don’t let it stop me. 

I stare down into her eyes. I can see the flecks of green speckled inside the grey at this proximity, and when she blinks, I swear I feel her eyelashes brush against my cheek.

I sigh. If only she knew how much more I wanted to do, what I wanted to tell her. “This, this party is great. Nobody else would have thrown me a party.”

Katniss bites her lip- she's kind of known for being at a loss for words sometimes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I ask, practically whispering. “Why me?”

She shakes her head back and forth, argumentatively, and I laugh because I haven’t moved, and the motion she makes has both of us moving together like some weird bobble-head. “I don’t know,” Katniss says finally, laughing at herself. “You had the appropriate number of sweatshirts?” 

Our lips are centimeters away from each other, and I decide to go ahead and take a chance. “I’ll take it.” Her eyes go wide and round, realizing what’s about to happen as I turn my head and kiss her. She inhales sharply as our noses and lips bump. It’s brief, hesitant contact, and then I back away a second after it’s over. “Was that okay?” I ask.

Katniss nods, her face turning redder- but she’s smiling. Not blinking but smiling.

“So, you’ve, ah, probably guessed that I like you, huh?” I just go ahead and tell her because, well, what do I have to lose at this point?

“I like you too,” she says, licking her lips and staring at mine. "I have for a while."

"I have forever."

Her arms go up and around my shoulders while mine tightens at her waist, pulling her as close to me as possible. She whimpers a little when my lips press against hers the second time, softening and parting a little beneath the pressure.

I sigh.

Best birthday ever.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


“So,” I ask, trying and failing miserably at removing the shit-eating grin from my face, “when are we going to have some of this cake you made me?”

“In a minute, I want to give you your present first,” Katniss says, taking my hand and leading me over to the worn-out blue recliner next to the television. “Sit.”

“You didn’t need to buy me anything,” I say as I lower myself, sinking deep into the cushions. The chair is humongous. I’ve seen Katniss and Prim share it more times than I can count, and even together, there was always plenty of room to spare. While she walks across the room to grab a wrapped package from the corner, I can’t help but wonder if Katniss would sit here with me if I asked her too. I’d love to just snuggle with her. What would it be like to squeeze in here together, hip to hip? I might die of happiness. Would she sit on my lap? I’d love that. She’s so small I bet she wouldn’t feel any heavier than Prim’s cat.

Or would that be too soon? 

Probably. I think I’m getting ahead of myself- I just kissed her for the first time a minute ago. I don't want to freak her out.

“It’s not much,” Katniss says, placing the wrapped package in my hands. She leans against the side of the chair and props her elbow on the headrest behind me to watch, and I don’t like it. I can’t see her as well as I’d like to from where I'm sitting.

“Are you hiding?” I ask, tilting my head back to look at her.

“No, don’t be dumb. Just unwrap your gift,” she says, waving her hands at me.

“But I want to look at you,” I say, “when I open it.”

Katniss rolls her eyes but moves around to the side of the chair, sitting on the arm while I scoot over. She turns towards me, but there’s still plenty of space. “Is that better?” She asks.

“Yes. Thank you,” I say. “So, present time?”

“Yep,” the word comes out, popping on the p. Katniss fidgets while I unwrap the package, propping one foot up on the cushion of the chair and looping her arms over her knee. All the while, her other foot taps a rhythm on the floor.

“You seem nervous,” I say, pulling the paper off. “Should I be nervous?” 

She scowls at that. “No, just open it.”

Once I have the package open, I see that inside the box is a set of professional-quality colored pencils, the kind I like to use from the art supply store. There’s something else underneath them, wrapped in tissue paper. “Thank you, Katniss,” I say, pulling the pencils out of the box, “I know these don’t come cheap.”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing- keep going.”

I set them beside me on the cushion before delving back into the box, curious about what else is in there. When I lift the tissue paper edges away, I see a 5x7 size, leather-bound book with my initials outlined on the cover, resting in the folds of tissue paper. “It’s a sketchbook,” she says anxiously, bouncing her foot harder as I lift it out. “This pad of paper is removable- you can put a new one in when you’ve used it all. I know how you’re always sketching things in your notepads and things. I thought you should have something nice to draw your pictures in.”

The book is beautiful, covered in soft and buttery mahogany-colored leather. “It’s beautiful,” I say as I flip open the cover, “I like it.”

What I see inside makes me lose my typical capacity with words. 

Katniss sketched a rough outline of a dandelion on the first page in blue ink. “I found an online tutorial,” she says. “I practiced a ton of times before I drew it in there.”

“It’s good,” I choke out, tracing my fingers over the inked-on petals, and I remember.

I think of the crowns we used to make out of those flowers in elementary school, how Katniss looked with her dark braids, the bright yellow buds making the perfect contrast. She was beautiful.

I think of how her father died in the early spring the year we both turned twelve, the way she cried in a field full of the yellow blossoms while I watched helplessly, unsure of myself but still with her after the funeral was over and everyone had gone home. I’ll never forget how inadequate I felt that day, wanting to take her pain away but having no idea where to begin.

Underneath her rough little drawing, I find this inscription:

_To Peeta- my dandelion in the spring._

_You remind me every day that life can be good again._

_Thank you for always being there for me._

_With love,_

_Katniss_

“Do you like it?” she asks, inching closer to me.

I nod once, jerkily, and look down at the page. “It’s perfect.”

“There’s that word again,” she teases. 

When Katniss reaches for my hand, I lose all of my self-control. 

I’m tired of having barriers between us. 

I don’t think any unspoken words are warranted in this situation, not when she’s showing me her heart like this, because I need her to know how much this means to me- what she’s given me today, how much _she_ means. I’ve spent too many years afraid of this kind of thing with her, and I’m really and truly done with that. 

I tug her down into the seat next to me, and when I take a good look at her, I can’t help but see a conglomeration of my past, present, and future all rolled up into one pair of serious grey eyes.

I love her so much.

“Thank you,” I said before leaning in and kissing her. “This is everything. You’re everything. It’s perfect.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
